When the Dam Breaks
by F.Finnigan
Summary: The 70th Hunger Games...Annie Cresta's year. Do I really need to say more?
1. Prologue

The sun is safely hidden behind large, fluffy, white clouds, while Mona's jacket and pants keep me perfectly warm. Everything leaves a strange numb feeling in my stomach.

The cornucopia, so real and so close, lies silent in the middle of the clearing, perfectly encompassed by the dense forest. Behind me, the soft gurgling of a river separates us from an old town, long forgotten since before the Dark Days.

…_30…29…28…_

Across the field, his eyes focus on the metallic plunder, fainting glimmering in the muted sunlight. Knives, backpacks, a bow, swords, bags of food- I'd rather not think of what the boy spotted, that makes his sea green eyes twinkle.

Less than twenty seconds, the Ky finally finds me. No smile, no wave- no time. I worried how the actual beginning of the games would affect him. Right now, Waylan should be proud of his tribute- the little boy, who managed to win over the Capitol with his charming smile and careful attitude, seems fully confident with himself. To think he'd be the last thing I'd have with me in this world- it's a curse and a blessing.

Ky gives me a swift nod toward the forest behind my back, and I think to myself, _I would die for this boy_. And I will.


	2. Chapter 1

The road into the Victor's Village ran alongside the beach, curving into a wide oval that ended just below the front steps. I knew, standing on the porch of every occupied house, they all shared the same view of the ocean. The sun gleaming over the waves during the day, and the moon and fainting glimmering stars twinkling on the water at night.

I watched my mother cross the common sandstone patio, heading into old Mags' house. Like most of the victors, she never married or had children- my grandmother was one of her few connections to the rest of the world, and as her daughter, my mother became something of a niece. When the older woman suffered a stroke two years back, she took over as Mags' personal maid.

With a sigh, I jumped off the back of my father's delivery truck, sliding a large woven basket after me. First a favor, the next thing I remembered the Cresta family became the unofficial laundresses of district four's victors. That was ten years ago.

Waylan stepped outside, the sun bringing out the golden highlights in his blonde hair. A long red scar ripped down the side of his face, from temple to chin- the doctors might have been able to smooth the damaged skin, but the thirty year old man insisted he kept it as a trophy.

"Beautiful day," he noted, stretching animatedly.

I swung the basket around, balancing the lip against my hip, and reached for the door handle. "Bin's in the back of the truck. I'll be over to get it in a few minutes."

"I'm sensing some favoritism here, Miss Cresta," Waylan said. He gave me a scathing look, before skipping down his porch, muttering something unintelligible about dying his hair and changing his name.

On the inside, every house was identical also. The doorway opened into a long hallway, the sitting off to the left, the kitchen at the end, and stairs on the right. A family portrait and picture of Finnick during his first Victory Tour hung on either side of the stairwell; creating the illusion that someone actually lives in this house.

When his parents were alive, their home was always spotless and inviting. Warm. The ostentatious furniture provided by the Capitol didn't seem out of place. Now the downstairs reminded me of the ghost house- the other vacant victor homes- equipped for life, but devoid of any.

Mags was his mentor, so she and I try our best to do what little we can for him. But Finnick seems to be off in his own world, quieting mulling over the past and sorting out the present. Sometimes it's difficult to watch, but we remain. Mags cooks, I clean, and Finnick has become Panem's favorite bachelor and mentor.

"Time to wake up!" I called loudly, throwing the upstairs bedroom door open with my foot, juggling the large laundry basket in my hands.

Purposefully, I run around his room, collecting random bits of clothing, and tossing them into the hamper.

Finn groans, rolling over. The covers snag on his legs, revealing his chest. Sometimes I wonder if he purposefully goes to sleep in next to nothing if only to embarrass me on laundry day. "You're really annoying- you know that, right?"

Distant and noticeably quieter- we all prepared the worst when he returned, greeting him with hugs, hiding tears. Eventually, Finnick began to smile normally, rather than the distorted stretch of his lips and forced crinkling eyes- it was just before the his parents passed away and Capitol women took their place.

I bite my lip and continue to pick up the discarded clothing. "Mags says to be at her house before sundown. You'll need to help with dinner if you want to eat."

"Why are you…?" he begins, looking lazily out the window and rubbing his eyes of sleep. Whatever he saw seemed to answer his question. "Tell her-"

"I would," I interrupted with a smirk, dangling a pair of underwear from my fingertips, "but, unfortunately I have work to do. Sorry."

Finnick flopped on the bed, leaning to snatch them out of my hand. He tossed it randomly behind him, and grabbed my wrists pulling me next to him.

"No work," he mumbles, wrapping his sleep laden arms around me.

I couldn't move. A blush ran from the top of my skull to the tip of my toes. The butterflies in my stomach turned to wasps, and I threw his arms off. "Yes, work. Now get up, and put some clothes on."

"Okay," he resigned. Finnick smiled sleepily, eyes almost closed, and pointed to his cheek.

I threw a sock. It barely missed.

While he rummaged through his closet, I ran around the room never ceasing to find something I missed. The sock I threw tumbled off the bed and into a corner. I got my hands and knees, reaching around the legs of his desk, and grabbed it grudgingly. Next to it, a fancy hair pin laid discarded and forgotten. Blue and green gems in the shape of flowers twisted intricately around the head of the clip.

Quickly I snuck a peek at Finnick.

Women from the Capitol have made it a tradition of sorts to leave behind pieces of jewelry; bracelets, earrings, rings, hair accessories. They'd leave behind just about everything just to have an excuse to see him again, and when it didn't work, at least a part of them remained behind, becoming a reminder of their tryst.

"Isn't this pretty," I noted, holding it out towards him.

"You can have it."

"That's alright." I didn't want it. If I held onto the thing, I would just toss it, or give the gems to someone who could sell them. I would, but there's that ever present part that persisted to delude Finn whether it hurts or not. If he was happy thinking I was happy for the presents, or at peace for my ignorance to his line of lovers, I would bare it many times over.

I bought it for you," he lied. If didn't know better, I would have believed him.

Oh…" I dropped in my pocket. Finn never steps foot in his parents room- it was the perfect hiding spot. "Thank you, Finn."

He nodded, slipping into a white short-sleeved shirt.

Before leaving, I pretended to drop the basket outside of their room. It flew underneath the door easily, and I was out the door.

The steam was worse than work. Cooking took more out of me than wringing dry and endless amount of clothing. I had to constantly rest my hand to keep it from burning, but the entire kitchen felt like a sauna.

Mom threw a window open, hoping to catch the sea's breeze. It helped a little.

The door swung open, just as the sun clung to the horizon. "Mags?" Finnick called.

She tapped on my shoulder. Ever since the stroke, she had difficulty speaking, but we could usually understand what she wanted to say. I might have been around her too much- sometimes I knew what to say or do ahead of time.

"Come help! We're in the kitchen!" I yelled, taking the pot off the stove. It was heavy than it looked, but I could manage.

Finnick burst into the kitchen, smelling the air. He never helped, but maintained his position as an "overseer" with pleasure.

"Whoa there…" he said, with a tone one might use handling a horse, and wrenched the pot from my grasp with a smile. "Here we go," Finnick singsonged as he placed it carefully on the table.

I sighed. "It wasn't that heavy."

Finnick poked through the white broth sprinkled with greens. "What is it exactly?"

"Stew. Do you want a taste test? I made it."

"No thanks." He looked warily out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Finn."

"Wha-"

Before he could close his mouth, I jabbed the spoon in. "How does it taste? Good?"

He swallowed hard, and held his hands to his throat pretending to choke. "Delicious."

"Enough flirting and set the table, Finnick." My mother chuckled to herself, turning back to the stove. Even Mags was grinning.

We ate in mixed silence. My father arrived just after we sat down. He took it upon himself to be the conversation starter, telling the worst jokes he heard from other fishermen. My mother blushed every time he opened his mouth, until her face was positively purple. At least Mags seemed to appreciate it.

"What time is it?" Finnick whispered, waiting until after my father finished laughing about an evil tuna- it was rotten to the albacore.

"Just after eight- is there a problem?"

He shook his head. "No. I just have to pick something up in town."

"I can come with you," I offered, glancing at my parents. "It _is_ a long walk."

"That's alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You take Waylan's, Finn's, and Marina's clothing. I'll get Bryton when I stop over at Mags." My mom balanced each basket on top of the other, using all her strength to hug them against her body. She peeked her head around the side, saying, "It should take me a while so I'll meet you here. And don't pester Finnick, Annie."

"I won't," I promised.

First thing was first. Waylan seemed surprised when I knock on his door. He made a joke that either hell froze over, or Finnick O'dair was in the hot seat.

"Nope. Just good old-fashioned favoritism." I beamed. "Do you need some help with that?"

When I went back for Finnick's, Marina was already there. The dark mess of curls whipped around her face like an agitated nest of snakes- she would say that's how she knew storms were coming. She nodded, and walked back. If Marina could, she would do everything on her own. She had shown weakness once toward her district partner, and it nearly cost her her life. Now-a-days she'd rather be unsociable than allowing anyone to see what lie beneath her iron shell.

I sighed, resting for a moment. At this rate I would be able to make lunch and eat with Finnick before mom graced me with her presence. It wasn't a bad alternative, but it was unlikely there would be anything in his house. I could just make a list of food to buy- or have "Finnick" buy.

There's no movement when I get closer to the house. The curtains are still drawn tight in the bedroom windows, which was enough proof to say he was still sleeping. Of course. I shut the door behind me a little too roughly. It echoed through the hallway, and if he wasn't comatose- had just become his new alarm clock.

The basket began to slip from my grip when I reached for the door handle. Suddenly it turned on its own, and I caught the side before Finnick opened the door. I poised to spring at him, but I was the one surprised.

An eggplant was standing in front of me. The human version of an eggplant.

"Oh my!" a woman squeaked, throwing her hands around her throat in exaggerated surprise. Heavy makeup, too big lips, even stranger, violet hair—she was definitely something _made_ in the Capitol.

My stomach turned in disgust, which made smiling even more of a challenge. Betrayal wasn't quite the word- after all, I was the one chasing after him- but a bit of consideration would be nice. I was sick of softly spoken promises that fell short every time.

"What's wrong?" Finnick demanded, his hand wrenching to door open wide to fit the two of them in one frame. They look good together in some twisted way; the waxed chest and the wax fruit. "Annie?"

"I'm sorry," I apologized, trying not to look at him. I could feel the tears beginning to prick at my eyes, but I wouldn't let myself be seen crying. Not by them. "I should have checked to see if…" I swallowed hard, "Mr_. _O'dair had company before coming." Though, I shouldn't be surprised either. _Last one_, my ass.

The woman eyed the basket in my hands with apparent relief. I was just the maid. "That's quite alright. I was just leaving," she said warmly, then turned as if I was a nonentity. "Finnick, will you come with me to the station?" she cooed, wrapping her arms around his one like a snake.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. "Lyra, I don't—"

"Oh please Finnick! I won't be able to see you for a few months."

That's right! The annual reaping is just around the corner. _How _could I forget? Even more than I pitied the tributes—I pitied Finn's next doomed child the most. While they were terrified for their lives, I bet he'd go gallivanting around the city with ten women to each limb.

"Excited for this year's game?" I asked innocently enough. As long as I'd live I would always be frozen with fear on reaping days- but this would be the first and only year I was excited for them to come. The sooner they passed, the sooner I would be free of torment.

She beamed, making it all the easier to hate this woman. "Of course! I wait for this every year! The dresses, the parties—" She broke off with excitement filled eyes. "And of course it's always nice to see the victors."

I lived in the same bloody district, and lately I hadn't been able to see him at all. "Must be nice—"

"Annie," Finnick cut me off with a hard stare. "You should go home."

"I'm sorry, again, for interrupting," I said with a polite smile. "This is for you." Quickly, I shoved the entire basket into his stomach with all my might, and walked from the house. The eerie calm I felt over my emotions lasted until my feet passed through the threshold. Tears jumped into my eyes, spilling down my cheeks, like a dam breaking forth. I keep my head down and break into a cold sprint.

I always imagined what my life would be like to marry Finn and move into the Victor's Village—to wake up each morning, and walk out our front door to a beach and sunlit waves. I understood that having a family would be out of the question, but I always dreamt what it would be like.

Now, I didn't where I was or if I passed anyone. My eyes were glued to my feet's path, and would not be torn away, until I reach my own home.

The market was where I belong and where I'm needed. Where I'm wanted.

When the sun started to throw oranges and reds across the horizon, I mindlessly walked towards the beach. There's something calming about the colors and the soft sound of the waves lapping over the land. Maybe I was too much of a creature of habit- it didn't take long before my solitude was broken.

I heard his footsteps, before he spoke. "I came to return your basket, but you weren't home."

He settled down in the sand to my side.

"I think I miss this the most when I'm there," he said vaguely. "The sunset."

I sighed to myself—this was how we've become. All those years of delusion, crumbled to reveal how genuinely awkward we were. Maybe it was better I realized this now, before wasting away my life for a dream of a dream.

"Mags always said how there's nothing like it in the other districts. How the sun looks like it's being swallowed by the sea. They don't have beaches, or large bodies of water to mirror the glowing colors of the sunset over the waves. Everything is so much paler, and yet harsher."

"Even after all these years, it's still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he agrees with a fond smile. "Annie, about earlier…"

"Don't worry, I know," I said. "She's the last one. Right, Finn?"

He bit his lip, and looked back towards the sea.

"I'm tired." I stood up, dusting the sand off my lap. "I'm just gonna head home."

"Oh…Um, I'll walk you."

"That's all right," I said, but he was already moving to his feet. I moved quick, trudging through the sand.

"Wait up!"

"Just go home!" I screamed over my shoulder, and grumbled, "Someone's probably waiting anyways."

"Annie, just—"

"I'm fine, Finn. Really."

"Just listen to me."

"I'd rather not."

"Annie," Finnick breathed, stopping in front of me. Suddenly his hand reached out and roughly grabbed my face. Before I know what's happening his lips pressed against mine. The tenderness I dreamt of was shattered- his mouth, hard and impatient, became suffocating. Finnick's hands trapped my face, one snaking around to hold the back of my neck.

_I can't breathe!_

With all my strength, I placed my hands against his chest and shoved. We broke apart. I staggered backwards, tripping in the sand. I didn't stop when I reached the tree line. I kept my eyes on the beast in Finnick's body until my back hit the trunk of a palm tree. He looked shaken, his mouth opening to speak—and I ran. I didn't want to hear anymore.

Without seeing him the weather begins to warm. My father spends days on the water, coming home to sleep and send off their catch. Mom buys him a salve to keep his skin from blistering under the callous sun. He leaves it at home, and comes back as red as a tomato.

Mom and I edit our arrangements. One day with Mags, and I realize why she needed so much time for one lady. Half of her laundry in hung in an extra room, and others folded in drawers. Mags likes to help out, too- thoughtful, but I'd rather have her rest and recuperate. Bryton is kind enough, but after a week, my mother is back and Waylan is stuck with me. He jokingly calls me a traitor, for leaving after calling him my favorite.

The morning of my last reaping comes without a warning. I drift through the day, putting on a white cotton dress. Mom gives me her prized pins for my hair.

Fishermen are allowed to sell one-tenth of their catch in town, and the rest is sent to the Capitol. Oyster fishers open each before sale, cleaning and sometimes removing pearls. Those are sent to jewelers, and where my father bought them for their fifth anniversary. The small, twin pearls contrast with my dark brown hair.

All too suddenly, I find the Justice Building just in sight.

My eyes gloss over the usual people seated on the stage. Mags and Waylan sat among the other victors dressed in green dress and yellow suit. Something in the fabric picks up the light, sparkling like flecks of glitter dusted over them. All the victors have the same polished appearance today.

Finnick and the Capitol appointed announcer, Charlotte Moss, are the last to take the stage. Out of the two of us, he's always been the one who deals with separation the best. If I had only seen him once over these last few months, I could have easily thrown everything to the wind.

However, Mags said it best. If I stay with him, I'll be the one hurt.

"Thank you for coming," Mayor White begins, flashing the crowd a smile. He breezes through his speech, animatedly congratulating this year's tributes-to-be, honoring those who passed before, and humbly thanking the victors for their continued work. Everyone knows he's given rewards for his upbeat addresses.

"A happy Hunger Games! And may the odds…be ever in your favor," Charlotte intones, with a coy smile. "It's always a pleasure and the greatest honor to be able to take part in the festivities with each and every one of you. Your warm hospitality is like the sun itself.

"Without further delay, well start with the ladies," she purrs. Charlotte flourishes her hand, rustling the tips of each paper. Finally her finger tips brush one, and as if it calls to her, she plucks it from the others dramatically.

Charlotte pauses in from the microphone, breaking the small seal on the note, and Finnick straightens in his chair. I can only guess from where he's sitting, he'll be in charge of the female tribute.

"Annie Cresta."


	3. Chapter 2

The storm season always causes rough water. The tiny boats barely clinging to life, suddenly tip, and sometimes a person goes missing. A few years ago it was my next-door neighbor. Everyone knows they're gone, but still the families hold onto a bit of hope that one day they'll return. But who would want to return to District 4—or any district for that matter—is beyond me.

My mom and dad have no hope. I won't be eternally sailing in the blue. When I die-_oh god-_

If I die, my mom will be forced to watch.

Once you're in the Games, you'll never have privacy again-Marina told me that two years ago. She said that the sailors are given more respect than the tributes. For my family, there's no reoccurring dream that I'll appear on her doorstep one morning. There will be no candle hanging by the door for my safe return, and no jar of ark seashells counting the days I'm missed.

Just two shells. Both halves of a piddock shell the families bury with their loved ones.

A guard opens the door, and my mom trips into the room. Her face is pinch and red. My father has to hold her shoulders, to keep her standing upright.

"…nie…" she squeaks, trying to remain calm, but it doesn't work. Mom barrels forward, catching me in her arms. Her ferocity catches me off guard, and I'm drowning. Tears spill down our cheeks, staining the shoulders of our dresses. When she pulls away, her hands fly to my face, wiping the hair out of my eyes. She scrubs my tears away with her own shaking hands. I never realized how tough her skin was, cracked and calloused from bleach.

"You come back to me. You hear me?" she demands.

I nod, unable to respond.

My dad comes over, wrapping his arms around both of us. "You better. I'll disown you if you don't," he says, and my mom hits him. "I'm not making a laugh, Melanie."

"Don't. Not now."

My fingers fumble through my hair. The pins put up a fight, but I pull them free, and clutch them momentarily in my palm. "Mom," I begin, already pressing them into her hand.

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. "You keep them," mom sniffs, closing my hand. "I won't be able to wear them again anyway."

"You'll be fine," she insists. "Mags will be there. She'll take care of you."

"Honey, Margaret can barely take care of herself."

"She's well enough," she snaps. "And Finnick. Whatever happened with him, Annie, you two have been so close for so long—"

I can feel the hysterics building in my chest. All I want to do is scream that it doesn't matter anymore. She saw him. He didn't even twitch when my name was called. He just sat there like I was just another doomed tribute. I am. I have nothing that will help me. I'm shorter than most girls, and thinner, too. I am a passable fisher at best, my skills in killing are limited to eliminating dirt from satin, and I can carry anything in a laundry basket-given it's lighter than a small child. However, thanks to Finnick I've gotten used to sprinting halfway across the district. "Don't worry, mom. Finn will take care of me, too," I lie.

I jump as the door shudders open.

"Time's up," the guard announces, stepping into the room.

Mom kisses my cheek, refusing to let go. She won't let go.

My father sighs, "Melanie, we have to go."

"No," she cries, tethering herself to me.

Before the guard can step in, dad kisses my forehead and rips my mother away. "Remember what I taught you about fishing," he calls back in a thick voice. I can barely hear him over my mother.

The guard slams the door shut after them. I drop to the couch, covering my ears. I can still hear their voices long after the room falls silent. I hear the hushed crowd as Charlotte Moss called my name, the sighs of relief from girls my age- they've made it-my name, my shoes clacking on the stage, another mother's outburst when her son was called, my mother crying, my father's voice near tears…

The room is silent when the doors open again.

I'm lead outside to an awaiting car. Charlotte Moss sits in the back seat with the boy. Ky Headley. He looks like a twelve year old, with brown curly hair, and big blue eyes. His mother's pain hits me harder than I expected-I at least had eighteen years with my parents. He isn't old enough to grow facial hair, and yet here he is-my district partner and rival. I hope it doesn't come down to the two of us, because I lack the heart it takes to win.

"I understand it's a hard day, but do your best," Charlotte begins as we pull up to the station. A Capitol train idles—the streamlines make it look fast even motionless. "There will be cameras waiting outside. The pictures won't air tonight during the recap, but they will be available in the city. Make sure you leave them with an impression."

A guard opens the door, and I step out first. Men and women swarm around us, lights flashing, speaking in one unidentifiable murmur. I cringe into Charlotte as she tries to make her grand entrance.

She looks slightly irritated for a moment, and then throws her head back laughing vivaciously. Charlotte weaves her arm through mine, and pats it with the opposite hand. "Pretend they're not even there," she says animatedly, playing it up for the cameras.

Ky managed to get out of the car, quietly and falls into step. We turn around in front of the doors, for one last shot. Charlotte steps off to the side, leaving us side-by-side.

I blink slowly, willing my tears away.

The little boy next to me is solid. The comparison is almost comical-by no means is he threatening or even like other careers, but he at least keeps his emotions in check.

A sense of relief washes over me, when Charlotte trots out again to stand in front of us. The flashing slowly dissipates, and we're lead onto the train. Sky blue fabric wallpaper, white couches, and a small table filled to the lip with fruit and colorful squares-I assume are desserts.

I never felt wanting for food. My father made a decent living compared to others in Four, and Mags acts as though it's her mission to keep our stomachs completely full. But staring at that table, I realize just how poor I am and even Mags is compared to Capitol people.

Our victors-_mentors _sit around a small table. They ignore the spread behind them, and turn towards the sound of Charlotte's clacking heels. Finnick looks like I've walked in on him and his artificially colored escort again. Expression teetering on the edge of surprise and horror. He stands up right away, heading for the opposite car.

"Where're you going?" Charlotte says, at the same time Waylan asks, "Aren't you going to join us, _Finnie_?"

Finnick squares his jaw. "Later," he says, before disappearing through the automatic doors.

"I swear—I would whack that boy in the head if it weren't for his face." Waylan sighs.

"Save your breath for mentoring," Charlotte retorts, following after Finnick.

I'm not sure how greetings are supposed to occur between tributes and their mentors, but this isn't it. The little boy and I remain glued to the floor, and the victors clearly aren't in the mood for entertaining. Waylan is, but his humor is one I could do without for now. Romy has his head shoved in a book, and Marina and Mags look simply dumbfounded. I know all of them and their flaws so intimately that it doesn't make a difference to me. Really their presence is a godsend, but can't help but feel a bit conceited, wondering if I'm the cause for their distress. Did they ever expect they would be forced to watch me take the positions haunting their every nightmare?

"Annie…" Mags croaks. With slight difficulty, she pushes herself out of a leather chair. It squeals with every movement. She heads straight for me. Her arms wrap around my waist and I rest my head against hers. I'm not safe, but I feel far from harm.

"It's okay," she mumbles into my ear.

Despite myself, I break down again, leaning against her for support. Nothing is okay.

"Some hot chocolate would be nice," Bryton notes to one of the attendants.

They make room for me, letting Mags and I sink into the couch. I can't cry-there's no more tears left-but my body feels heavy. Ky awkwardly fidgets in his own seat after Waylan relinquished his place for the little tribute boy.

"You're making me feel like a big baby," I tell Ky, laughing as I hide my swollen eyes. He smiles the tiniest bit.

"You are a baby," Waylan corrects me, usurping the steaming cups from the attendant. "Drink up. It won't put hair on your chest, don't worry. Bryton's poison is somewhere else."

The older man strolls towards the door. "Speaking of which…"

"Feeling better, darling?" Waylan pats my head. I nod, and he turns his attention to the boy. "Now let's see what we've got. Exactly how old are you?"

Ky looks up from his cup. His big green eyes look like a puppy dog's. "Thirteen."

"Small for your age, yeah?"

"No."

"Right. Well, then," he exhales, rubbing his face. "Tell me what you can do."

He blushes. "Nothing."

"That's not true. _Annie _here does nothing." His hands part and he flashes me an angelic smile, which really is anything but. "Tell me. Do you work?"

Ky nods, sheepishly. "I gut the fish when they come in."

"So you used a knife." Waylan's face brightens. Finally! Something he can work with.

"Yes."

I push myself upright, trying to regain normality. "That's helpful, right?" I enthuse. My voice is still scratchy, but at least not hysterical. "Just being comfortable using a knife is a plus."

"Of course, but more so if you can use it for food. Sure it isn't throwing knives, or using a trident—" his eyes turn piercing— "or at least fight, but we'll talk more about this later on. I just wanted a quick view. Besides, I'm being rude- you probably want to see your rooms. Follow me."

The first five cars are the sleeping quarters- we entered through the caboose. The dining room, then the television room, and finally we see the first of the rooms. Charlotte left her door cracked open. As we pass by, I glimpse her sprawled out on the foot of her bed. Ky's is next to Waylan's. Part of me pities him his mentor, but the other half craves it. My primary is Finnick, Mags and Marina can say what they want, but the final decision come down to the shining bachelor of Panem.

"Ky, your room is here. Shower, have fun, do whatever—Charlie will get you when it's dinner time."

"What about me?" I ask.

"No special treatment for you," Waylan refuses.

Marina rolls her eyes. "It's in the opposite car. Come on."

The rooms are arranged by gender, with the tributes in the preceding victors. She tells me that it's set up that way because we actually have one of the larger trains even though the count has shrunk from her year. Belle, Crayton, Lewis, and May passed away before my mom and I began helping out. Belle and Crayton were the iconic victor couple in the Capitol at one point. Everyone was ecstatic over their love affair, and heartbroken when it ended tragically short.

She stops suddenly, turning around. She tilts her head downwards, casting a shadow over most of her face.

"Make up with Finnick," Marina begins. Her dark brown eyes lock on me, trapping my gaze. "You need his help, and we won't help you until you do. Mags won't either," she promises.

My jaw drops, but I close it just as quickly. I know Marina's personality isn't the warmest, but now isn't the moment for her to lecture me. "Not to be rude, but none of you need to know what happens in my personal life."

"Oh. Very _adult_ of you." She says to herself. "But yes, right now we do. We all know how much Finnick is adored by the female persuasion-what happened wasn't his fault." I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. "I'll give you some advice; forget it for now. Forget everything that's ever happened in your life until you return home. Especially if it means forgetting your family. They can't help you now, and it's going to be hard enough without carrying around emotion baggage."

She smiles sympathetically, tossing open a door.

"Here you are. We'll come and get you when dinner's ready."

"Thanks." I slam the door behind me, and collapse on the large bed. Whoever decorated this train was heavy handed on the sea theme. Tiny star fish are embedded into the ceiling for the sake of a horrible pun. The covers are light blue, with soft white sheets—it reminds me of a wave frozen as it crashes towards the shore.

I strip out of my dress, laying it neatly on the bed with my mother's pins, and stand in the shower. From stories Finnick used to tell me, I grasp how it works pretty quickly. The warm water pelts against my head and cascades down my back, loosening tight knots in my shoulder.

Afterwards, I rifle through the drawers, shimmying into a lavender summer dress. I secure my hair with the pins, and wait. Waiting is worse than drinking with Marina—which I have long since promised myself never to do again.

I close my eyes, trying to sleep. I toss and turn on the bed, but it evades me.

When I hear a knock, I roll off the side, nearly sprinting to the door. Charlotte waits on the other side. Her face looks gray underneath a fine layer of makeup.

"Dinner time," she says simply, stumbling away.

"Are you okay?" I ask to her back.

She breathes evenly through her nose, exhaling slowly. "I will be once I'm off this train."

The dining car smells like heaven, if heaven had dinners of honey-glazed spiral ham, the largest golden corncobs I've ever seen, and rice pudding with cinnamon dusted on top. That's only the first course. I skipped every single form of seafood they placed before me, but nothing could stop me from devouring an entire pig.

I am so immersed that I barely notice anything else. When I look at Ky, it seems like part of the table must have exploded shooting sauce shrapnel over his shirt. A potato skin lays ripped apart and defiled on his plate.

Finnick is barely eating. An amber colored drink remains in his fist the entire time. He sits as far from me as physically possible without being rude. The mental distance feels greater.

Marina and Bryton keep the conversation going. I lost track of them around purple peaches and a funnel-some inside joke from last year. Ky and I ignore them. I learn that he has two older sisters, one that loved Finn, and the eldest who is going to have a baby. They pushed him into sports and out of the store. He placed in the top ten during the school swimming competition. More surprising, he says he knew me.

"You're close to them," he shrugs, looking at the victors. From what I've heard, it's obvious he meant only one victor in particular.

Charlotte finishes her drink, and stands. "The reaping is about to air—let's head to the TV room."

Waylan stretches in his seat. "Lead the way, Charlie."

The couch isn't large enough for everyone. Romy grabs a book and sits on the side. He stays with the group, but I honestly don't remember him ever participating. Marina, Waylan, and Mags take their places. Charlotte and Finnick squeeze in at one and, and Ky tells me to take the last free spot at the other. He rests his head next to my knee.

The careers appear first. True to form, they step forward, bulging adolescent muscles and flint stares. A white blonde haired boy from District 1 smiles brilliantly at the crowd. He's beautiful, but the overly calm façade is more terrifying than Two's couple. I could easily imagine the boy carrying the other three on his shoulder while wiping around a sword. His biceps are thicker than my thighs. The girl, Naomi, is tinier than me, but her countenance is purely predatorial.

Three breezes by, then Four is up. Charlotte looks proud of herself, some evidence that this is the same woman I met this morning. When the cameras disappeared, so did her over-the-top attitude.

It was worse than I thought. Finnick _didn't_ move an inch, I looked like I was about to wet myself, and Ky looked less concerned with himself and more afraid for his mother bawling and barreling through the crowd. One girl with a stomach the size of a small watermelon struggled to keep her back.

Right now, he's unreadable.

"You looked very beautiful, Annie," Charlotte notes as if she were commenting on the weather. No flattery or condescending surprise. She sees things very monochromatic. _'If the sky is blue, well then, I guess there'll be no storm.' _It's the perfect type of attitude to have as a Capitol attendant-to accompany young children to the arena from where they'll never return. Compared to other frivolous creatures I've seen spawned in the Capitol, I respect her. "You can use that. Looks are as useful as skills—just ask your mentor."

"Yes," Waylan sighs, stroking his scar. "Sponsors love the beautiful, bone-protruding heartbreakers. Not many people can look good while stabbing someone with their elbow."

"It will make you an easy target," Marina disagrees. "If that's all you have, no one will bother."

"Do you hear that, Ky?" I say, pretending the others can't hear me. "They think we're just pretty faces."

"No. Ky is very…" Waylan clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "You looked very intimidating," he lies brazenly. Too blantantly. Ky laughs in earnest. It seems unreal that after today's events either of us could feel so untroubled. Mags toothy smile, Marina's pleased smirk, Waylan and Charlotte's soft laughter. Romy and Finnick are the only indifferent ones.

"To who? The girl from District 3 with the broken arm?" Ky demands, leaning his head against the couch cushion

"You could easily take me," I insist, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

The other districts don't reap too many career level competitors. We average around seventeen years, which is abnormally high, but age has little to do with strength. If anything for the poorer districts it has the opposite effect. Meager diets mixed with the loss of baby fat, turns us into boney, drab caricatures of the younger men and women, who occasionally visit the district.

District 7's boy doesn't look strong, but he volunteered. From District 10 there's another girl my age. She looks like the life has been suck out of her, instead of how frightened I looked shivering on the stage. However, compared District 12 I'm a sure bet. Both are thin, unfortunate children with large bags under their olive toned skin. They don't seem to have a chance even before I noticed the resident victor stumble drunkenly into his seat.

"Not a bad crop," Waylan assesses, turning off the TV. "Good news is even Annie might stand a c-" A pillow bounces off of his face.

Finnick stretches his arms. "You should get to sleep," he says evenly

"He's right," Charlotte agrees, motioning for us to get up. "Tomorrow will be a very busy day. We'll arrive in the City around nine o'clock- wake up early, and make sure get something to eat. It's going to be a marathon. First is the Captiol Welcome at the train station, then straight to makeovers—you'll meet with your prep team then your stylist—the parade starts after sun down…"


	4. Chapter 3

CH3

I'm still awake long after Mags insisted on tucking me in. I closed my eyes and loosened my jaw, waiting until the sound of her uneven tread faded away. The faces of the other tributes replay in my head. The beautiful, the deadly, and the rest of us. When I do dream, I'm in last year's arena with the large bristled trees, snow on the ground, surrounded by ice and blood. Titus stalks toward me, blood from his victims smeared on his chin, his clothing. There's no reasoning with him. He's lost his mind.

And then I wake up.

It's a relief to know it wasn't real, but I still sit wrapped in my covers, shivering out the remnants of the nightmare. Why is it that the most gruesome details refuse to disappear unlike happiest of moments?

Carefully, I leave my covers, tiptoeing as though the entire train might feel my footsteps. Outside my window the soft pink light from sun is beginning to bleed into the sky over District One's mountains. I cling to the cold glass, too agitated to sleep but too tired to do much of anything else.

The others are still asleep as I make my way to couch where we watched the reaping. A single attendant walks hurriedly through the car and jumps when he doesn't expect to see me huddled in the corner. He asks very politely if there's something he can get me. I shake my head, and he rushes away.

It feels like moments later when a new attendant enters, but all the darkness of nighttime has vanished. She informs me a light breakfast has been laid out. Besides spoiling myself last night, my stomach still grumbles in earnest. Before I have a chance to rise, the opposite compartment door slides open and Romy saunters in.

He pauses to briefly appraise me, but he doesn't seem the least bit surprised. Maybe he shouldn't be.

"_He was stung by a mutt that looked like a gigantic white scorpion,_" runs through my mind. It felt intrusive to be told about their years, but Romy never told anyone exactly what happened during his. He couldn't look at anyone in the face for weeks after the game ended. He's improved to some extent.

"You're up," he says simply.

"I couldn't sleep."

He nods pensively and then points to the dining car. "Breakfast?" he asks, but leaves almost immediately, and slightly awkwardly.

"…Right behind you," I answer to the empty air.

My eyes trail the swirling patterns on the walls. Blues, silvers, and whites dance together, creating a never ending cascade. The colors are so vibrant, the rest of the world pales in comparison. I want to memorize it all. I want to hold every beautiful yet simple memory that doesn't sting with loss tightly to my heart.

Romy's indifference to the wonders around him irks me in an irrational way. He was lucky to survive his year, yet printed words consume his hours rather than relishing the life he got to keep. But he doesn't ignore or pity me, preferring the company of silence than making obligatory small talk.

I rest my head against my hand, pushing the leafy tops of strawberries in circles.

I'm silently dreading the moment Ky joins us. Part of me irrationally wants to distract the little boy, while another wants a partner to share my darkening thoughts to. I drown the largest portion of my heart that seeks denial and to lifelessly drift through this time until the clock ticks to zero and the arena manifests around me like an inescapable nightmare.

The other victors' distraction is a godsend. Especially Waylan, considering I have always had a hard time entertaining people with whom I not entirely close. But unlike Romy, I forced myself to do so for Finnick's sake and never quite kicked the habit.

…Finnick.

I heave a sigh, dropping my head to the table.

"Annie?" I hear Romy timidly ask.

"I'm fine."

Out of all the others, why did it have to be Finnick? I didn't have a moment to contemplate our arrangement, but Marina and Mags did. I can't speak to him, and he can barely stand to be in the same room. Even if I was secretly strong, what chance would I have with an absent mentor? From district twelve's array of victors, I can say it isn't helpful. I have heard plenty of Waylan's strategy talks before and know well enough how the games are played, and without Finnick, once I'm in the arena I don't stand a chance. Nearly all winners are sponsored.

I don't even have confidence in myself, so why should anyone else?

Gradually, the empty seats begin to fill. Bryton takes his spot to my left, and Marina next to her ex-tribute. The table falls silent except for the scrapping of forks and spoons on the overtly intricate plates- the lip is painted in gold. Maybe it's real gold. I wouldn't put it passed them.

Mags brushes my shoulder with her hand as she passes. I grip it gently, grateful for any lifeline to tether my restless mind.

Ky staggers into the car before his mentor. Waylan, Finnick, and Charlotte follow along solemnly, looking as though whatever discussion they just ended didn't end too agreeably. They don't talk, but there's a palpable feeling of apprehension clinging to the air around the three. Ky seems oblivious, though. He yawns as he reaches the table, stretching his jaw as far as it will go like a roaring lion.

I dip my head down minimally, trying to catch his eye. "Morning," I say cautiously.

He bits on the inside of his lip, eyebrows knit together. "Morning," he says back, albeit sounding more like a frog than a human being.

"Hurt yourself?" Waylan asks, mussing Ky's messy head of hair. The silky, thin strands engulf his entire hand the way they did to mine last night. Now that I think of it, I hope that didn't make him feel uncomfortable.

"Hm?" he groans, dropping to his own unofficial seat. Everyone, including myself, is sitting in the same places as last night. I allow myself even to look at Finnick, and it somehow still stings my heart more than my pride that after all those years when I'm finally in the same boat, so to speak, he can't even look at me. Not that he ever truly did.

"Nothing," Waylan dismisses. "Good morning, Annie. You look dead."

I don't look anywhere in particular, smiling weakly. He doesn't mean harm, but my patience feels so incredibly thin. I haven't felt this way since the fight, the last time we talked when I finally decided to give up and Finnick…when he kissed me.

It took me two months to put that memory entirely from my mind, accepting that if I couldn't move on I wouldn't be able to live happily at home –the same way Marina advised I compartmentalize my feelings to survive this. I feel I'm growing weaker by the moment.

"Thank you," I say.

"When did you get here?" Charlotte demands. I look around at the others, until our eyes meet.

"A while ago," I admit.

"Before me," Romy answers.

"Don't tell me you didn't even sleep, Annie."

"Not very much."

She sighs. "Both you _and_ your prep team are going to regret that. You need all the rest you can get during this time." Charlotte's head whips from side to side, seeming confused. "Now where's Bryton?"

"In bed."

"What is he doing there?"

"Probably sleeping."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it."

She doesn't look amused. "Can someone please wake him up? I will not have any of the mentors looking like some morphling's unfortunate relatives when we pull into the station."

"Still mad about last year, Charlie?"

"If I was mad…" she begins, seemingly about to yell. Instead, Charlotte pauses, takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes again. "I don't even know why I try. I'll go get him myself."

"What happened last year?" Ky asks.

"Nothing of importance," Waylan dismisses just as the door opens. Charlotte turns face and takes a seat at the head of the table across from Finnick. "Well, look. There he is! The beauty sleep did you well, old man."

"You ate without me."

"You can't expect us to always wait for you. Right, Annie?" Waylan smiles crookedly.

"Why are you bringing me into this?"

Charlotte sets down her cup and demurely claps her hands for attention. "Okay, enough for a moment. We have some business first, and then I'll let you go back to pleasantries. We'll be arriving at the station soon. The first districts always get the biggest welcoming parties, so I want all of you to spend some time delaying outside the train. Make sure the people get a picture of our mentors and tributes together."

"What would be the point? There won't be any cameras there."

"Not officially, but the citizens will want to greet our tributes properly. Let everyone see that District 4 isn't a team. You are a family. Make them despair at the thought of losing one of your loved ones."

Finnick starts laughing, lowly and cynically. "They do love family, don't they?"

I mouth his name but lack the courage to say anything. It's true that if they had any concern of our families, we wouldn't have reapings. There wouldn't be families torn apart by the Hunger Games. But I'm embarrassed to witness this side of him. What does he expect? They might have made an appearance during his year, but he can't blame everyone for not feeling his parents' loss like us. Maybe it would have been different if they had a bigger impact on the Capitol to be missed by its masses.

"Yes, we do. Each victor is important to us." Charlotte levels her gaze and I know she meant precisely what she said, and even the words left unsaid. The life leaves my fingers. "Now get ready. We'll arrive in ten minutes."

I'm finally here.

My eyes blink against the continuous clicking of cameras, the thunderous crashes of people's voices echoing around me. I'm given a wide enough birth from the painted citizens, but I feel like I'm drowning. My muffled ears sunk beneath the waves, the roaring of a living ocean, lights twinkle off of the high silver beams like sunlight dancing upon the waves.

This is the place where my dreams followed Finnick year after year. The glittering opulence he described so long ago does the Capitol no justice appearance-wise. There's no appeal otherwise.

Hundreds of people crowd the train station, filling every last bit of space available. It's amazing how everyone changes on the immaculate marble platform. Charlotte, surly and sick, blossoms into the entertainer that disappeared back in District 4; Romy refuses to grant anyone his eyes; Bryton and Mags don't act any differently, but it feels like they're the Capitol's favorite grandparents, despite the fact neither have ever had children; Waylan's mouth is surprisingly closed, but twisted into an arrogant smirk that crinkles his famous scar; Marina is the definition of confidence and mysteriously uninterested, that people crave her attention; and Finnick is a god. It seems wrong to hear my name and Ky's chanted when all eyes pour over him.

"…You pressed the wrong button," Finnick says.

Charlotte cocks her head to the side, smiling absently. "Did I?"

I duck my head down when I catch Waylan's hand sneaking towards her waist. Charlotte squeals in surprise. "Do not touch me," she growls.

Waylan sighs. "Calm down, Charlie. Just tell us what's going on?"

"District 11 is running very, very late, _so_ the rest of us must wait for them to arrive before the tributes are allowed to meet with Mona and Alfius. Until then," she turns her head towards Ky and me, eyes drifting off to the side. "Don't bother bathing- the prep teams prefer to be throughout. Explore the apartment and get something to eat- it's going to be a long day."

"Okay," I ascend quietly. Ky nods.

The doors open to Four's apartments, the victors fall instantly into their third transition, the way I know them. They're home away from home. Ky and I are the last to exit, only with Mags holding onto my arm for intimacy rather than for support- by the way Ky looks at us, he must believe Mags isn't as deceptively strong as she is. True, the stroke did its work, but I wouldn't doubt it if she outlived half of us.

The dining room and sitting room are combined to create a large open area with the couches overlooking the city. Ky drifts perhaps involuntarily towards those windows.

While my back was turned, the rest disappear, save for Mags and Marina. The younger woman raises her eyebrows as she passes by us, continuing unfettered down the hallway until she pauses at one door. From the distance I can't read her lips, but I know what it implies.

"Go on," Mags says in a way that feels more like a command than encouragement. It's unfair. She knows I can't defy her, and I know that as much as I'm too scared and angry to have done this sooner, I crave it. To make matters worse, her smile feels just as heavy as Charlotte's words.

"I'm going to blame the two of you for this later," I warn her. My voice shakes subtly and I laugh at myself. "This is ridiculous."

I find the room Marina hinted to earlier, hesitating outside the door. I constantly look over my shoulder overly conscious of anyone who might see me. My hand suspended mind air between a knock and forgetting the whole thing altogether. Somehow I manage.

My fist taps against the smooth dark wood. I wait a moment, but when I don't hear movement, I try again only harder, more determine; however, I'm met with silence. When did a door ever stop me? I used to walk bold as anything into his bedroom. I could do it once; I can do it at least once more. If he gets mad at me, Marina can take all responsibility.

The room is empty, except for muted hissing behind a far door. The shower?

I sit down on the edge of the bed to wait. It doesn't look like Finnick's room, but it feels like he belongs here. The drawers haphazardly thrown open, their innards dripping onto the floor. It's clear he cares even less about what the Capitol attendants have prepared for him, even though they're far more beautiful than the plain cotton shirts he usually wears at home. Smooth, glistening dress shirts, some more transparent than others, and brand new pants, coal black and pleated to perfection. A royal blue jacket with embroidered silver roses drapes over a chair in the corner.

I realize I don't know anything about him while he's here.

The bathroom door opens, and Finnick steps out with a haze of steam. A towel is tied around his waist, while he plods absent-mindedly over the thick carpeting, leaving behind wet footprints.

He freezes when he notices me.

"What are you doing in here?!" he demands, clutching a shirt to cover his exposed chest.

I turn my head immediately, looking away and hiding my inflamed cheeks. Anyone who's stepped foot in Victor's Village has seen Finnick O'dair shirtless at one point or another, but his sudden development of modesty is making me embarrassed. I manage to find my voice, and thankfully it comes out even. "We need to talk."

"Close your eyes- don't look," he stammers. I can hear him stumbling in the background, slamming drawers closed in his haste.

"Is it safe, yet?"

"Yeah- yes." Cautiously I turn back and find him still fumbling with a t-shirt. It refuses to go on easily, catching on every damp portion of his back and stomach. Somehow the necessity of a top makes me feel like I've been demoted for good in his eyes. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Mags and the others told me I had to see you," I explain, saving Marina's involvement for later.

He still seems startled. "Why? What did they say to you?"

"Nothing. Well, nothing besides that I need you. Your help, I mean. Ugh –this isn't coming out right." I stand up, closing the distance between us. "Look, I know we haven't been normal for a while, and that it won't be ever again, but please, Finnick, it's just two weeks. Please give me that much."

"What do you want me to do?"

I sigh. "Be my mentor? I'm just another tribute. You know better than I do."

"I don't know how to help you," he admits.

"I know."

I wait for him to speak, to say anything that would break the tense silence, but he must be waiting too.

"…I -"

"I'm sorry," Finnick suddenly says.

"Don't be," I say, because I don't want to hear him apologize for my misfortune. After all this time, it's nice to be even this close, but not if it's out of pity. I don't want sorrow. I want a distraction. A delusion of hope that only Finnick can give. "Being a laundress doesn't exactly turn one into a fearsome career. Though my muscles are too shabby, right?"

"No," he laughs and instantly sobers again. "It's not that. I'm sorry for everything. For what happened then, and right now… Annie, I'm so sorry for more than you could ever know."

He stares at me with those all-consuming eyes, like a sea foam green maelstrom. There's something so familiar about that pain. "What are you talking about?"

I jump when the door opens too quickly, ripping my eyes away from Finnick.

"Oh…" Waylan freezes, looking over his shoulder into the hallway. "Well, sorry to break this up, but, Finnick, you and I need to talk to the stylists. Especially you, if you understand what I mean."

I look back to him desperate and confused. Finnick didn't really agree. Would he? Will he forget and go back to being a phantom?

"We'll continue later," is all he promises.

I nod, and he doesn't waste a moment, nearly sprinting from the room. Waylan steps out of the way. "Well then, I'll suppose we'll see you soon."

"Waylan!" I run to the door, catching it just before it closes.

"Yes, darling?"

"I'm…If there's any way I can help Ky, let me know."

His face twists with suspicion. "I will, but-"

"But don't tell him," I say. "Either of them."

"Little girl, are you trying to get me into trouble?"

"Just a bit," I say because it sounds blasé. "I won't be able to protect him against anyone in the arena, so beforehand…"

"You might not have to. Not everyone is a Finnick O'dair, '_born with a trident in his hand,_'" he quotes distantly and shrugs. "Sometimes just having someone by your side is enough. Look at Mags."

"She didn't kill anyone?"

"No. She did. We all had to at one point."

"I can't quite picture that."

"Don't," he says solemnly. "Just focus on yourself for both of your sakes."

I nod, but Ky's face pops into my mind. He knows me well enough, but Waylan thinks I'm plotting against his tribute? I can't be the only tribute to ever want to help my partner. "Do you still remember her? Your partner?"

My question catches Waylan by surprise, which says a lot. "Every time I close my eyes."

"I want him to be the one to remember. If that happens, it'll be enough for me."

He smiles understandingly and walks off quickly without another word.


End file.
